“Detective Bosch,” Irving said. “Thank you for coming.”
“I didn’t have the choice, Councilman.”
“I guess not.”
“First, I’d like to express my sympathy for the loss of your son. Second, I’d like to know why you want me here.”
Irving nodded and glanced out one of the lobby’s tall windows. There was an outdoor restaurant beneath palm trees and umbrellas and space heaters. It was empty, too, except for the wait staff.
“I guess nobody gets up around here till noon,” he said.
Bosch didn’t reply. He waited for the answer to his question. Irving’s signature physical trait had always been the shaved and polished scalp. He had the look going long before it was fashionable. In the department, he had been known as Mr. Clean because he had the look and he was the guy brought in to clean up the political and social messes that routinely arose in a heavily armed and political bureaucracy.
But now Irving’s look was shopworn. His skin was gray and loose and he looked older than he actually was.
“I always heard that losing a child was the most difficult pain,” Irving said. “Now I know it’s true. It doesn’t matter what age or what circumstances . . . it’s just not supposed to happen. It’s not the natural order of things.”
There was nothing Bosch could say to that. He had sat with enough parents of dead children to know there was no debating what the councilman had said. Irving had his head down, eyes on the ornate pattern of the rug in front of him.
“I’ve worked for this city in one capacity or another for over fifty years,” he continued. “And here I am and I can’t trust a soul in it. So I reach out to a man I’ve tried to destroy in the past. Why? I’m not even sure myself. I suppose it’s because there was an integrity to our skirmishes. An integrity to you. I didn’t like you or your methods but I respected you.”
He looked up at Bosch now.
“I want you to tell me what happened to my son, Detective Bosch. I want the truth and I think I can trust you to give it to me.”
“No matter how it falls?”
“No matter how it falls.”
Bosch nodded.
“I can do that.”
He started to get up but paused when Irving continued.
“You said once that everybody counts or nobody counts. I remember that. This would put that to the test. Does the son of your enemy count? Will you give your best effort for him? Will you be relentless for him?”
Bosch just stared at him. Everybody counts or nobody counts. It was his code as a man. But it was never spoken. It was only followed. He was sure he had never said it to Irving.
“When?”
“Excuse me?”
“When did I say that?”
Realizing he may have misspoken, Irving shrugged and adopted the pose of a confused old man even though his eyes were as sharp as black marbles in snow.
“I don’t remember, actually. It’s just something I know about you.”
Bosch stood up.
“I’ll find out what happened to your son. Is there anything you can tell me about what he was doing here?”
“No, nothing.”
“How did you find out this morning?”
“I was called by the chief of police. Personally. I came right away. But they wouldn’t let me see him.”
“They were right. Did he have a family? I mean besides you.”
“A wife and son—the boy just went away to college. I was just on the phone with Deborah. I told her the news.”
“If you call her back, tell her I’ll be coming to see her.”
“Of course.”
“What did your son do for a living?”
“He was a lawyer specializing in corporate relations.”
Bosch waited for more but that was all that was offered.
“‘Corporate relations’? What does that mean?”
“It means he got things done. People came to him when they wanted things done in this city. He had worked for the city. First as a cop, then for the City Attorney.”
“And he had an office?”
“He had a small place downtown, but mostly he had a cell phone. That was how he worked.”
“What did he call his company?”
“It was a law firm. Irving and Associates—only there weren’t any associates. Just a one-man shop.”
Bosch knew he would have to come back to this. But it wasn’t useful to spar with Irving when he had so little basic knowledge through which to filter the councilman’s answers. He would wait until he knew more.
“I’ll be in touch,” he said.
Irving raised his hand and flipped two fingers out with a business card between them.
“This is my private cell number. I’ll expect to hear something from you by the end of the day.”